Murder on Pea Pike

by Jean Harrington

  “What politico isn’t?”

  True. We all, politicians or not, had our secrets. Our shames, our hidden desires. The promise of vast wealth could lead a man, even a rich man, down a dark path. But what if the senator wasn’t lusting after money? What then? What else did he need bad enough to become a silent partner in a sleazy business like gambling?

  Think. Think. If not money, what else? There had to be something.

  Silence.

  Like the blow to my head, the thought struck with the force of a lightning bolt. I sat quietly in my chair, hardly daring to move, but doing mental high fives. What the senator needed was silence. IP and their backers had something on him. Something that if it came to light would destroy his career.

  Slightly unsteady, I rose to my feet, glad I’d worn flats and left the stilettos in the closet. I had to get out of there and go talk to Sam. Find out if I was working for a liar. Or not.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Paying no mind to how I looked, not caring a bit if I was peaked, baggy-eyed, or needed a shampoo, I stormed into Sam’s office. “Did you know?”

  Startled, he swept his shoeless feet off his desk, taking a pile of papers along with them. “Know what?”

  “About Pea Pike. The casino.” I stood in his doorway, panting with effort, telling myself the room wasn’t tilting, I wasn’t dizzy, and Lord help me, I wasn’t going to pass out. “Did you?”

  “What’s this all about, Honey? You come in here yelling like a hog caller, looking like you’re ready to pass out and—”

  “Yes or no? Did you or didn’t you?” I needed to sit before I fell down, but I didn’t dare let go of the doorjamb. “Tell me, Sam, please.”

  He got up from behind his desk and padded over to me in his stocking feet. Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, he helped me to a chair. “You’re pale. Should you be out and about so soon?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me. No, that isn’t true. Something is bothering me. So, for the love of God, Sam, answer my question.”

  I must have been shouting. Mrs. Otis walked in, silently closed Sam’s office door, and left us without a word.

  While I sat watching his every move, Sam paced around, running his fingers through his hair, checking his chin for stubble and finally stomping to a halt in front of me. “Look. I swore I wouldn’t tell this to anyone.”

  Another man sworn to secrecy.

  “But you’re not just anyone. So here it is.” He repeated almost word for word what Cletus had revealed.

  My heart nearly stopped. “So you did know.”

  At the blame in my voice, his eyes widened. I’d never spoken to him in that tone before, never wanted to again, didn’t want to now. With my pulse pumping like a chicken’s with an ax over its head, I waited for his answer.

  “Yeah, I know about it. I found out last night.”

  My pulse slowed. “You’ve only known since then?”

  “Trey Gregson told me over dinner. What’s this all about?”

  “That’s what I want to know.”

  Bending down, he set both hands on the arms of my chair and stared ahead at me, not at the wall or the woodwork, the closed door, or anything else. Straight at me. “Now I have a question for you.”

  A proposal? Ha!

  “Why is this upsetting you so much?”

  “I have to spell it out for you?” For the first time since we’d met, I wanted to slap him.

  “Yeah, do that, spell it out.”

  “Because I hate gambling in all its forms. Because our neighbors were robbed of their just rewards, and because two women were killed on what is now casino land.” I drew in a breath. “All over a secret plot.” At his frown I said, “Yes, a plot, to build a gambling empire that nobody around here wants or needs.”

  “Well, well, everything’s all summed up according to the Book of Honey.” He lifted off the chair arms and turned away from me, but I wasn’t finished.

  “If this is such a highfalutin deal, why the secrecy? Why weren’t you told about it earlier? If you’re not insulted by that, I’m insulted for you. You’re practically a member of the senator’s family, and you didn’t know what was going on until last night?”

  No reply.

  “That is true, isn’t it?”

  Halfway back to his desk, he spun around. “If you’re calling me a liar, watch what you’re saying. You’re overstepping your place here.”

  “Oh, is that right? I’m out of place, am I? You want to fire me for that, then fire me. But for God’s sake, ask yourself why you, Lila’s intended and a Realtor … a Realtor … didn’t know about the biggest real estate deal that’s ever hit town.”

  A thundercloud, he strode back to me and pointed a finger at my nose. “One, stay out of my personal life. Two, I’m giving you a week off to rest and recuperate. I don’t want you back in this office until you’re well again.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’m riled up, not sick.”

  “Bullshit. You look like hell, and you’re acting like a crazy woman. Go home and rest. That’s an order.”

  An order? Another man ordering me around? A hand on each hip, I squared off. “Am I fired?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Good, because I quit.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  So just like that, I burned my bridges, every damn one. No need now to wait until Sam’s wedding bells rang. I was out of Ridley’s and out of Eureka Falls like yesterday. My knees wobbling, my head floating in some kind of fuzzy cloud, I marched out of his office, slamming the door so hard all the partitions shook.

  Over by the front window, Mrs. Otis reared back in her seat. “I could hear you hollerin’ in there right through the walls. You up and quit your job?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  I stomped into my cubicle without replying, adding bad manners to my stupidity and temper.

  Dazed, I looked around at what I needed to gather up and take with me when I stormed out once and for all. Framed photographs of my momma and Amelia’s boys, my state realtor’s license, my favorite coffee mug, emergency cosmetics stashed in the lower desk drawer, the accumulation of three years. But the idea of collecting everything and toting it out to the car was just too much. I’d only take my iPad and purse and come back for the rest after-hours. It would be less painful that way.

  For a heavy woman, Mrs. Otis was light on her feet and suddenly there she was in my cubicle doorway, her forehead creased, her mouth a tight line. “No need to tell me what’s wrong, but whatever it is, I thought you’d like to know the security company just called. The alarm system’s all set in your apartment. Not that you have to leave my place or anything.”

  The poor dear, my shouting scene had upset her.

  “Thanks, love.” I wanted to leap up and hug her, but in that moment, I couldn’t find the energy. I had to save it to stand, get out of the building, and into my car.

  She laid a piece of paper on my desk. “Their phone number. Call when you get home, and they’ll activate the alarm.” She hovered, twisting her hands together. “If you’d like me to go with you, maybe Sam will—”

  “No, no, but thanks anyway. I’ll call you over the weekend and come get my things.”

  “No hurry for that. But do call. I’ll be worrying about you.”

  I nodded, hoping Sam would stride out of his office and beg me to stay on. But his door didn’t budge. So it was a done deal. Well, maybe that was for the best. Casino or no casino, I couldn’t continue on like this much longer, always aching for something or someone I could never have.

  Palms flat on the desktop, I pulled myself up and dropped the iPad in my purse. Then, slinging the bag over a shoulder, I gave Mrs. Otis a goodbye hug.

  At the apartment, I left the front door open, and cell phone in hand, checked out each room, ready to tap in 911 at the first sign of trouble. I peered behind the doors, in the closets, under the bed, and tried all the windows, including the bedroom s
liders. Only then did I lock the door and call the security company. They told me to press in my five-digit code and the system would come alive. My home would be as safe as a fortress.

  Safe and sorry, I kicked off my shoes and stretched out on the living room sofa. On a Friday afternoon. The time to call clients and set up appointments for weekend showings. But instead of putting my mind to my job and doing what I was paid to do, I’d taken matters into my own hands. Gained a heap of information I could do nothing with. In the bargain, I’d messed up my life more than I would have thought possible the day Tallulah Bixby strutted in on those flashy silver shoes.

  I blew out a sigh that practically lifted the sofa off the floor. What a joke I’d been. Honey Ingersoll on the hunt for a killer. I had no training, no detective skills, no right to meddle. Only a deep need to stop a bully from hurting others, or worse, from stealing their lives. I’d rolled onto my side, ready to curl into a ball of misery, when my glance fell on a stack of newspapers neatly piled on the coffee table. The alarm people must have brought them in. How thoughtful. That’s when it leaped out at me, Tallulah Bixby’s photograph on the front page of the Star. A teenage shot from the look of it, maybe her high school graduation picture. Underneath, a headline in great big capital letters, FUNERAL PLANS ANNOUNCED FOR SHOOTING VICTIM.

  I grabbed the paper off the coffee table. The funeral service was scheduled for two p.m. tomorrow in the Fayetteville Baptist Church.

  Though I’d hardly known Tallulah, I wanted to be there, to express my sorrow to her momma, and yes, to see who else cared enough to pay their last respects. No telling who I might run into or what I could learn. I lowered the paper to my knees. Getting there meant driving two hours each way with this lump on my head. Even if I was up to it, what would Matt say about that? I could hear him now. Stay out of it. Stay home. Let the police do their work.

  A strand of hair fell across my face, tickling my nose, a strand of limp, unwashed hair. That did it. The instant I touched it, the thought of not messing with the case melted like fog on a sunny day. Enough with playing the victim. What was that U of A motto anyway? Never Yield. And damn it, I wouldn’t. Starting right now. Of course I was up to the drive. Or if not, I’d find somebody to drive me. Pay them if I had to. Either way, I’d be at that funeral. What I’d do with the rest of my life, I couldn’t tackle right now. Like Scarlett, I’d save that problem for tomorrow.

  I leaped off the sofa with more energy than I’d had in days. Now for a shower and a shampoo. The ER nurse had told me the wound should heal fast. That was Monday; this was Friday, practically a whole week later. I’d chance it, for whether I liked it or not, there was gambling in my blood.

  In my U of A T-shirt and cutoffs, hair dry and shiny, face scrubbed clean, I felt like a brand-new woman. In hardly no time at all.

  Now to eat something. I opened the fridge, took one look inside and slammed it shut. Well, nothing wrong with a can of soup and dry toast.

  I had my little feast simmering when the chimes rang. Sam. Can it be Sam? Oh God. I hurried to the front door. One glance out the peephole and my hopes sagged to my bare feet.

  I yanked open the door.

  “Your alarm?” he said.

  “Oh, gosh, I forgot to turn it off just now.”

  He dropped the bags he was carrying on the living room floor, pulled out his cell, and called the alarm company. “Sheriff Rameros here. At the Ingersoll address. All’s well.” A few more words and he hung up.

  I stood there, hands on hips. “How do they know it’s you?”

  “We’re in frequent communication. They know my voice. Still, I wouldn’t be surprised if they come by to check.”

  “So, why are you here?”

  “A couple of reasons. You going to invite me in?”

  “You are in.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  I waved an arm at the living room. “Make yourself at home.”

  He picked up the bags. “You like Chinese?”

  “Love it.”

  “Good, I brought dinner.” He grinned. “And breakfast.”

  “In your dreams.”

  “How did you know?” He strode into the kitchen as if he owned the place.

  Seeing him in shorts was a first, and I followed him through the apartment, admiring his hairy, tree-trunk calves. “You off duty or something?”

  He glanced back and caught me scoping out his legs. “Your powers of observation—”

  “Are pretty good. No badge. It’s a giveaway every time.”

  He reached into one of the bags and pulled out a bottle of wine. “Pinot Grigio?”

  A good cold beer would have been more to my liking, but he looked so hopeful. “Perfect.”

  Another reach produced “a couple of brewskies for me,” and a bottle opener. He uncorked the wine and poured me a glass.

  I sipped it. “Yum, wonderful.”

  He smiled, and we clinked, bottle to glass.

  In the living room, I took the club chair and let Matt have the sofa to himself. He arched an eyebrow as he sat but didn’t comment. Not about that, anyway. “I have some good news for you.”

  “Oh?”

  “We’ve arrested your assailant.”

  That brought me to the edge of my seat. “Who was it?”

  “Joe Swope.”

  “Amelia’s ex? Oh no!”

  “Yeah, his prints were all over your bedroom door. To your knowledge, has he ever been in here?”

  “Never. And the whole place was freshly painted before I moved in.”

  “I’ll talk to the landlord. Make sure Joe didn’t work for him.”

  One ankle resting on a knee, he took a sip of his beer. “You notice anything missing?”

  “I haven’t checked, but I don’t think so. The TV’s still here. There was no money around or jewelry to speak of, so, no.”

  He picked at the paper label on his bottle for a second. “Joe Swope have any reason to target you?”

  “Maybe.”

  The foot he’d been balancing on his knee hit the floor. “Why?”

  “Remember that night at the roadhouse? When Joe heard Amelia and I had gone there, he threw a fit. Threatened her. Told her he’d see me about it too.”

  “Oh he did, did he? In harassing his ex-wife, he violated the restraining order. Cause for arrest right there.”

  “Arrest him again and I’m afraid he’ll blame Amelia for that too.”

  Matt set his beer on the coffee table. “Yeah, domestic violence cases are some of the worst.”

  “I know.” Though I’d never told anyone.

  No, Billy, please.

  Whaddya you mean you don’t want to do it again? What else are you good for?

  “Is there any chance Joe will be let go tonight or tomorrow?”

  “If he’s smart enough to get an attorney, yeah. Otherwise, he’s in until court convenes on Monday and bail can be set. Why? You afraid he’ll come back here tonight?”

  “No, not here. I think he only wanted to scare me. Amelia’s the one he wants to control.”

  Matt stood and slid his cell out of a pocket. “I’ll call the station. See what I can do. If a lawyer wants to release him on bail, my hands are pretty much tied.” He smiled. “But let’s give it a try. It’s amazing sometimes what one good ol’ boy will do for another.”

  He spoke into his cell for a few minutes, the lines in his forehead deepening by the second.

  “You’re not going to like this.” He slipped the phone back into his pocket. “Joe’s out.”

  “When?”

  “Twenty minutes ago.” Matt stood. “Save the Chinese. I’m going to check on Amelia and the kids.”

  “Don’t leave without me.” I ran into the kitchen, flung the bag of Szechuan or whatever it was into the fridge, grabbed my purse out of the bedroom, and toed on a pair of flip-flops.

  Matt’s wheels waited out in front, a spanking new Dodge Ram pickup, all polished maroon and shiny hubcaps.


  “Pretty cool.” I climbed into the passenger seat. “For cruising when you’re not in the cruiser?”

  A white-toothed smile. “You could say that. I went all out. It’s a Ram 2500, the latest Turbo Diesel, Mega Cab model. A boy’s gotta have his toys.” He put her in gear and pulled away from the curb. “You have your phone?”

  “Of course.”

  “Call Amelia. Warn her not to open her doors until we get there.”

  A hand in my purse, I hesitated. Joe Swope had no car. Even if his cousin gave him a ride, he couldn’t get from the jail to Amelia’s house in less than a half hour. And no way would an attorney drop him off there.

  Still, she needed to be warned. “All right, but it’s a darn shame this had to happen just now.”

  “Is there ever a good time?”

  “You don’t understand. She has a date tomorrow night.”

  “A date? What’s that got to do with it?” He stared across at me as if I’d taken leave of my senses.

  “She’s met someone and has a chance to get her life out of the Dumpster. Head it down a whole new path. But if Joe’s dead set on causing trouble, she’ll likely refuse to go out and leave the boys with a sitter. And that would be awful. She and Cletus have so much in—”

  “Cletus Dwyer?”

  “The same.”

  “Well, I’ll be darned. That’s a surprise.” He smiled but scanned the scene carefully as he drove. “Just to be safe, make the call. Ask if everything’s all right. If she says no, tell her help’s on the way.”

  As I fumbled in my purse for the cell, Matt’s hands tightened on the wheel. “No need to call. There he is.”

  Up ahead, a few blocks from Amelia’s house, Joe Swope was stomping along, head back, hands swinging at his sides, cowboy style. His swagger caused a surge in my blood. The nerve of him, strutting along like the biggest rat in the pack, hell-bent for Amelia’s cottage. And when he got there, then what? Beat her up again? Frighten his sons?

  Like I was frightened. You sassin’ me, gal? Ain’t you learned yet? Well, this oughta show ya.

  Matt slowed down. “He hasn’t spotted us. We’ll stay behind him, see if he gets close enough to violate the restraining order.”